


That's Not Me

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Big Brother Dean, Closeted Character, Football | Soccer, High School Student Castiel, High School Student Dean, High School Student Sam, Human Castiel, Internalized Homophobia, John's Journal, M/M, Protective Castiel, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Underage Masturbation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fear and disgust build up inside Sam as he realizes he can no longer lie to himself about being gay. He is determined to lie to everyone else, however, especially his father and brother. </p><p>That's harder as he begins to fall for another guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrong

When Sam was fifteen, it hit him like a punch to the throat that even the most attractive of the girls he knew did not interest him. Dean was graduating-a year late-in just six weeks, with a reputation for conquest, and his little brother was so messed up he didn't even get a tingle when Rhonda Hurley walked by in a short skirt. And when he caught himself eyeing a few of the guys on the soccer team, he had nearly vomited.

Their father was one of those men who valued hunting, football and pickup trucks. He made chili and volunteered at the fire department when he wasn't under hoods. He was former military, a Marine who had seen Vietnam and didn't want to talk about it. He was the sort of father who told his boys not to start fights but to finish them. He thought coffee should be black and drinks should be strong. Boys should have short hair, and they should chase girls with long hair.

Sam had borrowed the Anna Nicole Playboy that John kept under his bed. When he found himself reading the articles, he shoved it back in its hiding space and cried in the shower for twenty minutes, until the water ran cold. Then, just to punish himself for crying, he stayed in the icy water for another five minutes, and came out with chattering teeth and the same misery he'd had when he stepped in.

It wasn't that the images in the magazine disgusted him. It was more like they confused him. He could see that the women were attractive. But why in the world would some guy want to do things to them? He wasn't stupid. He knew how sex was supposed to go. But when he pictured himself doing it, it was always a chore, something he had to check off his to do list as a good boyfriend or husband.

Unless he was picturing himself with one of the guys from the soccer team. That was different. That made so much more sense to him. This had nothing to do with procreation. This was just about pleasure and connection with one another. It was about taking care of another guy, with his hands, his body, his mouth...

The orgasm he should have reached with Anna Nicole finally surrendered to mental images of his mouth servicing a faceless guy on the soccer field sidelines after the rest of the team had gone home.

Sam cleaned up and lay in his bed to cry again. He would punish himself for these tears in the morning. He was too tired to care now.

He wanted a guy's hand in his hair. He wanted a guy in his mouth. He wanted a guy in his arms. He wanted a guy.

God, he was so messed up.

Gay. The word sounded like an accusation. He had tried to hear it in his own head in John's voice, and the whole idea made him retch. He couldn't even try to hear it in his brother's voice. It was too humiliating.

Sam made the decision to not be gay. It was as simple as that. John had always said anything could be overcome with enough strength and will. Sam was strong. And his will was unbreakable.

Dean saw him after school that week, trying to flirt with one of the girls who had shown interest recently. His brother leaned on the wall with his hands in his pockets, a look of pure, delighted amusement on his face. Sam was probably going to need to punch him.

He clumsily untangled himself from the least enjoyable social interaction he could imagine, and approached his brother with an extreme amount of annoyance and embarrassment reddening his face.

"Go on!" he snapped. "Laugh. Tell me what I'm doing wrong!"

Dean shrugged, and swallowed a chuckle. "You're doing fine. She's into you, man. You're just clearly not into her, so what the hell are you even doing? Girls don't like being used for practice, kiddo."

"Of course I'm into her! All the guys are into her!" Sam protested in frustration. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His brother shrugged again. "I don't know, man. But if you are, you're doing a horrible job of looking like it. I thought you were a theatre kid this week."

The heat flushed through his throat and all the way up to his ears. He hated Dean a little bit right now, with his broad shoulders, and his cool confidence, and the handsome smirk, and his complete inability to do anything wrong. The leather jacket look was a favorite among the girls at school. Sam would never be able to pull it off. Dean had no reason to be ashamed of his own body or the heart inside it.

"I'm doing theatre. Not just this week."

"Uh huh. I saw the flier about soccer in your bag when I went in to take your calculator."

Sam's eyes widened. "What?" Then they narrowed. "Why are you stealing my calculator? I needed it for Algebra earlier!"

He shrugged. "I had a math test."

"So get your own!"

Dean gave him a look of feigned patience. "Yeah? And keep it where, genius? In my pocket?"

"Dude, most kids carry a backpack or use a locker or something."

He looked at the younger boy as if he might be an idiot. "Why would I do that when I can just take yours?"

Sam sighed. He never won these cyclical arguments.

"All I'm telling you is I saw the flier about soccer. I think that's great. It ain't football like Dad kind of hoped, or wrestling, like I suggested. But I think you'd be great at it."

He shook his head. "The coach just asked me about being a goalie. He knows I used to play."

"Yeah. You were good. And you liked it. Why'd you stop?"

He readjusted his bag uncomfortably. "I don't know. I didn't like the guys on the team."

"You think you'll like the guys on the team this year?"

Too much. And that was why he wasn't even going to consider it. "I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'm not gonna do it."

"But why? You liked-"

"I can't have everything I like, Dean! That's just life! There's a whole damn song about it! Leave me alone!"

"You didn't trash the flier," Dean pointed out quietly.

"I'm going to. Just shut up. You driving me home or do I gotta walk?"

"Come on."

That night, Sam's gaze wandered from the statistics homework he should have flown through to the flier on his desk. He wasn't going to play soccer, no matter how much he enjoyed the game itself. Strength and will sometimes included sacrifices, and anyway, the theater kids wanted him to help run tech for an upcoming show. He hadn't given them his answer yet, but if he wasn't going to join soccer, he may as well.

And he wasn't going to join soccer.

He reached for the flier to crumple it, but dropped his hand back to the statistics book in defeat.

He couldn't crumple that face.

The fliers were in full color this year. The coach was apparently desperate for new blood, because he went all out with the recruitment posters. Now Sam couldn't walk down the halls of school without seeing that lovely face. The guy was his year, a sophomore, and the photo was from last season. The blue and white uniforms were perfectly designed to torment Sam by emphasizing the kid's eyes. The look of intensity in that face, the confidence and focus as he ran the ball down the field...He may have been a freshman, but he looked like a pro. Whoever had taken the photograph was a genius; Sam was certain. It showed muscular legs and arms in graceful motion, and had caught the boy in all his glory. There was a bit of a halo around his head, making it even more surreal to think of him as a teenager. He was clearly an angel.

Castiel Trodaire, actual living angel.

And he couldn't crumple up the flier, the paper version of the gorgeous posters on the walls of every hallway in the school. That face just shouldn't be crumpled.

That night, he made the shower water too hot, in hopes of burning off the desire, and then turned the dial far to the right to chill it out of him. Neither worked, but when he was satisfied that he was sufficiently miserable, he got out and went to bed. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly, and refused to allow his traitorous hands to wander the way his eyes had betrayed him, enjoying the flier when he should have been doing math.


	2. Welcome to the Team

The coach really wanted Sam. That was obvious when the captains approached him in the hall after classes.

He drew in a sharp breath when he saw who was tapping on his shoulder. "What?" he blurted.

Castiel smiled kindly. "Hey. You're Sam Winchester."

"So?"

The older kid gave him a grin that just oozed confidence. He was exactly like a preppy Dean. "I'm Michael Arch," he said, as though that should explain everything, and Sam had to admit that it did. Michael Arch was the guy every student in school wanted to be seen hanging out with. He was far better looking than any seventeen year old had a right to be, all dark hair and bright eyes, with muscles to spare. And the cheerleaders who practiced on the sidelines were always giggling about the frequency with which Michael Arch ran drills without a shirt. Sam kind of wanted to see that for himself.

But it was the other captain, the one a half step behind Michael, that Sam couldn't tear his eyes from.

"Okay," he breathed. "Good."

Castiel began to smirk. "We're captains of the soccer team."

"I know," he didn't mean to say.

Michael nodded. "'Course you know. So Coach Cacao thinks you have potential, Sam. He knows your old coach, Brick Holmes, who said you were pretty good in the goal."

Castiel watched him through those fantastic eyes. "He said you've got great hands."

Sam's stomach flipped, and he could not turn off the blush. He looked away instead, back at his locker. "I was okay. But I don't play anymore."

"He said," Michael continued, "that even before you were a decent height for a goalie, you were athletic enough to cover the whole net."

He swallowed. "I'm still not tall enough."

"I bet you will be. By the time you're a senior. I know your brother. Kid's built. Too bad the wrestlers got him first."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know..."

Castiel stepped forward, and an electric shock ran up Sam's arm to his elbow when the captain touched him. "We're in bad need of a backup goalkeeper, Sam. Right now, we got a good goalie but nobody to relieve him but me. I'm no goalie. I'm terrible."

"I bet you're not."

"He's not," Michael confirmed. "But I need him running with me instead. Only one fast enough to keep up."

Finally, the blue eyes released Sam and cut to Michael. "Really?" he smirked. "Keep up? I gotta pull back to let you stay with me."

Michael glowered at him and punched him playfully. "Whatever. I'll remember that next time I'm blowing by you when we play one on one!"

Sam shivered at the idea of playing one on one with Castiel.

_What was wrong with him?_

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Mike, you just remember things the way you want to remember them, don't you? Just makes you sick a sophomore's got more speed than you."

Michael waved him off. "Sam, see what I have to put up with? Look, I know you haven't played in a while. Cas can work with you and brush off the rust. We're partway through the season. We want to work with you now to get you on board for next season. I'm not graduating without a championship, my friends. And that's going to require a backup goalie who can actually keep goal."

"Because I suck," Castiel explained.

Sam's brain had stuttered over the promise of Cas training him personally. Part of his brain screamed that this was exactly the sort of situation he needed to be avoiding. Another part skittered joyfully through the fantasies he couldn't kill off, the ones of him on a soccer field sidelines with a faceless guy...who was gradually becoming less and less faceless and more and more a blue-eyed angel.

"What do you think?" Michael asked through his perfect smile.

"I guess I could...try?"

Castiel's smile was warm enough to ease some of Sam's anxiety. "Nice. That's all we're asking. If you hate hanging out with us, you can quit. But you like soccer, right?"

"I love soccer. I just didn't..." He licked his lips. "I didn't think I'd fit in well."

Michael waved this away. "We'll take care of you. You'll love the guys."

He swallowed with difficulty. "I...I like to keep to myself mostly. Is that...okay? I mean, other than practice, of course. I'm not...I'm not a real social person."

The older boy shrugged. "You might change your mind. We got some great guys on the team. But goalies are always allowed to be eccentric. As long as you can communicate on the field, you can ignore the rest of us socially if you really want." Michael smacked Castiel's arm lightly. "Hey, that's Raf over there. I need to bitch him out for running out of practice early. Welcome aboard, Sam."

They both watched Michael jog off to catch another teammate, who looked like he was trying to avoid eye contact.

Castiel sighed. "Mike thinks soccer is all there is in life."

Sam looked up in surprise. "What, you don't?" He snorted. "Your face is all over the school promoting it."

The other boy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that was my idea? I love to play. I love the team. I'd do anything for Michael. But I'm not planning on going pro. I think half the team thinks that because we have a good chance at the state championship by next year, we're all headed for the Olympics."

Sam laughed quietly from under his hair where he hid.

"But it is fun. I'm glad you're going to give it a chance."

He nodded, and the smile faded from his lips. "Yeah. But I'm serious about that other stuff."

"What, not wanting to make friends?" Castiel was still smirking at him. "Okay. We won't be friends. I promise. Even if I've thought you were kind of cool since I met you in the computer lab last year and noticed you somehow got into Mr. Zachariah's webpage and changed a bunch of his links and his photo, without his password."

Sam's eyes widened. "I-I didn't...I was just...That wasn't me!"

"Oh yeah? Looked like you."

"I'm...I didn't...Mr. Z gave my brother out-of-school suspension for a fight he didn't start. He was defending this friend of mine, Barry, when a bunch of kids were giving him a hard time, and Mr. Z didn't even let Dean explain, and...I-I'm not saying I did anything, but-but whoever did...He probably deserved it."

Castiel chuckled. It made his whole face light up, and that was making Sam a little breathless. "I bet he did. I just thought it was funny. I've had...issues with authority some myself. Would have liked to have been able to pull off something like that. It kind of cracked me up. You're pretty funny. But don't worry. We won't be friends, I promise." He winked a blue eye, then turned to walk after Michael. "I'll see you at practice, Sam," he called back.

This not being attracted to guys thing was getting harder and harder.

Sam sighed heavily. "Great," he murmured. "Just...fantastic."

***

Castiel smiled to himself. He knew he should be listening to Raphael and Michael strategize about how to group trios for practice drills, but they had been over it all before. Matt Uriel was nodding enthusiastically enough for both of them, even though Castiel knew he couldn't care less about it all. Uriel was full of crap, but Castiel seemed to be the only one who knew it, except maybe for Michael's on-again-off-again girlfriend Anna, who couldn't stand the senior. Anna and Castiel would both be glad when Uriel finally graduated. She and Michael were dating this month, so she was pretty sick of the guy always hanging around. By next month, Castiel was sure they would be broken up again, and Anna would claim not to care who Michael hung out with, so long as it wasn't her.

His mind wandered back to the look on Sam Winchester's face as he recognized him and Michael. It was a fleeting look of panic, replaced quickly with a defensive wall. He wondered if that was because of him or Michael, or because Sam knew they were about to try to recruit him into something he wasn't sure he wanted to commit to.

The kid was brilliant. Castiel bet Sam didn't remember him from Coach Brick's team. He had joined just before Sam had quit. It was Castiel who had pointed Sam out to Coach Cacao as a potential goalkeeper. It had been two years, and the guy had been scrawny, but wicked strong and so smart. Castiel had snickered to himself as he watched Sam block a goal, imagining the little nerd doing calculus in his head, figuring the trajectory of every kick as it flew at him. The only ones Castiel could get by him in practice were those he placed in the far left upper corner. Anything else, Sam could reach by sheer will. And now he had grown a foot, and Castiel suspected Michael was right that he would be almost as tall as Dean soon. Six foot at least. That upper left corner would be no problem for Sam now. Castiel was looking forward to seeing it.

If he was honest, he was looking forward to seeing Sam at all. They only played together for a few weeks before Sam was gone. That's why Castiel had learned to keep goal, because Coach Brick had needed someone to replace Sam's backup as backup. But Castiel was only sufficient as goalie. He excelled at flight across the field. The goal was confining. He wanted to be free to run.

And free to watch Sam. He wondered if that was wrong, to want to watch the boy. Sometimes people accused him of staring. He didn't mean to. He just liked to study people. Watching humanity never got old. Sam was one human he really wanted to study. He knew the kid was straight. For that matter, only a few close friends knew Castiel was gay. Michael and Raf knew, and one or two other guys on the team, and Anna. But no one talked about it. Not in this school. Not in this town. So Sam wouldn't know. And, sure the guy was straight, but that didn't mean he couldn't think about him, right? Terry Inias, the freshman team manager, had no chance with most of the girls he watched, but that didn't keep him from sighing after them. So long as he kept his thoughts to himself, he wasn't hurting anyone. Sam wouldn't be uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Castiel began to frown, eyes narrowing into slits.

"What's up, Cas?" Anna murmured beside him.

"What? No, nothing. Anna, have you ever heard anybody...other than these guys, anybody commenting on...on me?"

She shrugged. "Like what?"

"Like...that I like guys," he said in a low voice.

"No. I didn't think anybody else knew."

He sighed with relief. "Okay. Good. No, that's good. Nobody else should know. I told Michael because of the locker room weirdness, but he said it wasn't a big deal. I just...we recruited a goalie today, and he was pretty adamant that he would play but not hang out socially. You...don't think that's because I'm...You don't think I make him uncomfortable...do you? I mean...I don't pretend to like girls. So maybe he figured it out. He's pretty smart. You think he said that to make it clear he doesn't want to hang out with me specifically?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure that's not it, Cas. Everybody loves you. Mike says goalies are always a little weird. He's probably just got a strange personality. Quirky loner, that sort of thing."

"Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, that's probably all it is. Right? I mean, it isn't like I'd hit on him or anything. I don't date guys at this school anyway."

She squeezed his hand, then went back to listening to Michael and Raphael chatter.

Castiel lifted his water bottle. He closed his eyes and took a sip, and kept them closed as he sighed. He hated living like this, but he knew what could happen if people started getting into his business. He was lucky to have the friends he had, ones who didn't mind or even care about his orientation, but even they didn't mention anything, because they knew it was best to keep it quiet.

Sam wouldn't find out. And Castiel wouldn't have to worry that the kid wasn't hanging out with them because he was freaked out by Castiel in particular. Sam just didn't want company. He could respect that, even if he didn't understand it. It was just soccer, after all.

***

"It's just soccer, Dad!" Sam sighed in frustration. "Please don't make a big deal-"

"Out of my kid being recruited personally? Hell yes, I'll make a big deal out of it!"

He shook his head. "They heard I played goal back in eighth grade, Dad. They just need somebody to keep the goal intact while their front line keeper takes a break."

John grinned. "And they wanted my boy!"

Hazel eyes rolled. "Yeah. They wanted me," he grumbled.

"Come on, Sammy! It's exciting! Brick Holmes was a good coach. If he recommended you to the high school coach, he must really think you're good!"

Dean had been quiet for several minutes, and now he eased into the conversation. "Sam, you're a good goalie. But you're out of practice. Is that worrying you? 'Cause I can kick a ball for you this weekend, help you get your hands back."

Sam shook his head. "Thanks, man. But one of the captains is supposed to be coming over to help me."

John nodded as he popped open a beer. "Well, I'm proud of you, son. You know, you should consider doing football in the fall. Just to keep in shape for soccer."

Sam had known that was coming. "I don't think so, Dad. I like watching football and all, but...I think I'll just stick to this."

The man shrugged, but Sam could tell the conversation wasn't over. This conversation was never over. John wanted the all-American son. Sam was never going to be that.

"You're probably going to have to cut your hair, you know," John added as Sam started to walk out of the room. "Your coach won't like it."

"It's not the Marines, Dad," he heard Dean say behind him.

He let Dean field this round of "Sammy, cut your hair." Not that Dean wouldn't love to take clippers to his hair himself. But that didn't keep him from defending him to John.

He dropped onto his bed miserably. Just how far would Dean defend him? If keeping his hair an inch longer than Dean's was a constant topic of debate, what would happen if they found out he got all warm when the sophomore captain of the men's soccer team smiled at him? If they ever found out just how much of a freak he really was, would Dean bother with defending him then? Or would they both agree that Sam was a waste, and give up on him entirely?

His unreasonable mind drifted back to Castiel smiling at him, and he sighed. He turned from his stomach and glared up at the ceiling. Well, Castiel could smile all he wanted. Strength and will would make this all go away. It was a phase. Probably a phase some guy like Dean never had to deal with. But still just a phase.

He was John Winchester's boy. John Winchester's boys weren't fags. There was nothing wrong with it if a guy was actually gay, of course. Neither he nor Dean would ever give a guy crap for being gay. That was wrong. John would never want that. John taught his boys to defend guys weaker than them. It was perfectly fine if some guy was gay.

But Sam wasn't gay. That was going to stop right now.


	3. Clean

Sam was washing his hands and glowering at the puffy eyes in the mirror. "Go away!" he snarled. 

"I will break down this door. Don't think I won't."

And it would never occur to either of them that he couldn't. 

"Leave me alone!" Sam's hands were bright red, and he trembled with the effort to keep them under the stream. He had turned the water heater up while John and Dean slept last night, in order to provide the right burn. He just wanted to be clean. Clean of all these desires that just wouldn't go away. Hotter water killed more filth. That was just science. And cold water killed libido. Everyone knew that. So he would wash in hot water, and punish with cold. 

"Sammy?"

He wanted to punch the mirror. He wanted the mirror to punch back. 

Castiel Trodaire had been his stupid, gorgeous self at practice after school, had been sweet and kind, and was patient with Sam's rust, as Michael put it, and had laughed at everything Sam's nervous brain threw out his mouth. He had been perfect. And when Sam had come home, he had locked his bedroom door and given in. The adrenaline from the exercise, the sore muscles, the memory of Castiel's strong body and beautiful stride as he ran...Sam had surrendered and touched himself, and felt release for the first time in days, and he hated himself for it. Strength and will could overcome anything, his father preached. Easy for him to say! He didn't have to watch Castiel Trodaire stretch out after practice!

It was pathetic, that's what it was. It would have been pathetic if it were a girl, but it was both pathetic and dirty because it was a guy. What was it going to take to convince his body and his brain that guys were not supposed to produce that kind of response? 

He scrubbed his hands furiously. 

"Sam! Last chance!" 

Sam startled. He had lost himself in the burn on his hands, and had forgotten all about Dean. "I'm coming out!" he shouted. "Give me a minute! I'm washing my hands!"

"You been washing your hands for twenty minutes. Get out."

He sighed in frustration, and turned off the water. When he went to dry his hands on the towel, the sting of it made him suck in his breath through his teeth. It hurt even to grip the doorknob.

Good. Maybe his brain would learn that thinking of guys hurt. 

Dean's face was twisted into anger, but that melted into concern. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"We're never going to have enough time for that question," he snapped wearily. 

His brother folded his arms across his chest. "I got time," he reported in a stubborn tone. 

"Just leave me alone." Sam tried to push past him, but Dean grabbed his wrist, and he winced. 

Dean's frown deepened. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded again, and this time it was entirely concern. He examined Sam's hand to find it red and cracked. "Jesus! Sammy, what is this? This from keeping goal? You need better gloves?"

He shook his head. "My gloves are fine. I'm fine."

"Why are you burning up? Dude, you're sweating! You got a fever? That what this is? I think you do. Dude, you gotta go lie down, okay? I'll tell Dad when he gets home. Just sleep."

"I want to take a shower."

"You just spent twenty minutes washing your hands!" Dean watched his face with intelligent interest. "What's going on, Sammy? Your eyes...you haven't been sleeping?"

He pulled his hand out of Dean's grip. "Leave me alone. I got homework to do."

"Sam, if something's wrong, you gotta talk to me, man. You came into the hall and slammed the door so hard, I thought it would come off the hinges. Then you wouldn't say anything. You made me threaten to take the door down myself. And now your hands are all screwed up, you're sweaty and your eyes are red and swollen. I'm going to go with not fine!"

"I am fine! I'm tired. I'm going to go to sleep now. Leave me alone."

Dean released him reluctantly. "This ain't over. Go get some sleep, but I want to know what's going on with you."

"Bite me, Dean."

The bedroom door slammed behind him. 

It wasn't Dean's fault. He shouldn't take it out on him. But he had to figure this out on his own. He couldn't risk Dean finding out the truth. 

Sam cried into his pillow that night. It seemed he was doing a lot of that lately. 

"Fine," he whispered miserably. "Fine. I'm gay, all right? I give up. You win. Nothing wrong with it, really. Only that I'm a complete disappointment to my dad already. But whatever. Let's add this to the mix. Just another way Sammy's a freak. Fine. But there is no way I'm ever letting Dean find out. It's just too humiliating. I can't..." His whisper caught under a sob, and he choked it out. "I can't risk Dean giving up on me. We got nothing in common as it is. This would finally be it. He'd be disgusted. I can't handle that. I can't see that in his face."

The tears washed out his voice, and he clenched his cracked hands as hard as he could. The sting would keep away any thoughts of blue eyes. 

***

"Hello, Sam," Castiel intoned. 

The goalie cringed at the voice. "Oh. Hey, Castiel." He fumbled his water bottle and bag, and knelt to pick them up. 

Castiel looked down at him, and couldn't help picturing his own hand in that hair. He smiled. "I'm glad you're more graceful in the net," he teased softly. 

Sam smirked. "I'm a mess in the net."

"You're really not. You're doing great. But I wanted to ask if you wanted to use my gloves. Your hands are hurting you." Castiel wondered if that was why Sam was having trouble holding onto his things. He hated to think that the boy was hurting himself because he didn't have the right gloves, when he had a perfectly good pair sitting on the sidelines. 

The keeper lowered his eyes. "My gloves are fine."

Castiel nodded slowly. It had been over a week of this. If Sam was going to be a teammate, this wasn't going to work. He was just glad the rest of the team was already heading for the parking lot. He didn't need this to become a public conversation. He hardened his eyes and looked at Sam with defiance. 

"You can't catch gay, you know. It isn't contagious."

Sam's mouth dropped. His eyes flew to meet Castiel's. "What?" he squeaked. 

Castiel felt a familiar sense of dread in his chest, but he pushed through it to smirk. "I'm right, aren't I? That's been your problem. Look, I'm the best one to train you, so you'll need to suck up whatever issues you have. This is just soccer, man. I'm not going to do whatever you're scared I'm going to do. And using my gloves so you don't kill your hands isn't going to turn you into a raging gay man. You can't catch it." 

"So..." Sam looked frantic suddenly. 

It was disappointing, really. He knew how smart Sam was. He was such a good guy, with a nice sense of humor. Sam was a hard worker, and never complained, even when he was clearly hurting. Why did he have to be a bigot? They could have been good friends. Castiel shook his head in sad anger. 

"So you're gay too?"

The captain opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. "What?"

Sam's face was bright red, and he looked as though he were about to burst into tears. "How do you do it?" he asked hoarsely. "How can you stand to be around the other guys? Don't you feel..."

Castiel forced his brain to restart. "Turned on?"

"Disgusting," he finished miserably, as the first tear slipped down his cheek. Sam swiped at it in anger. 

Every look Sam had given him over the past week suddenly made horrible sense. It wasn't disgust for Castiel. It was self-loathing. 

The captain sighed. "Dude. Sit."

Sam stumbled to the bench and put his head in his hands. 

"You're just figuring this out, then?"

The kid nodded miserably, but didn't look up. 

"I'm sorry, man. Sucks."

Sam spat out a bitter laugh. "Aren't you supposed to pretend like it's a good thing, like I should be proud about it?"

"No. It sucks."

"You're not at least going to do the whole it gets better thing?"

"Dude, I'm sixteen. How should I know?" 

This time, Sam gave a real laugh. "Awesome," he smirked. They were quiet for a time, then Sam sighed. "Look, nobody knows, okay?"

He nodded. "Me either, except a handful on the team."

Sam nodded too. "Right."

Castiel cautiously raised a hand to touch Sam's shoulder. The boy flinched at the contact, but did not pull away. If anything, Castiel could swear Sam had leaned into the touch. "I really am sorry," he sighed. "But it isn't as bad as you think." Then he frowned. "Sam? Can I...can I see your hands?"

Pure exhaustion played in Sam's eyes as he surrendered his hands for inspection. 

"Sam, what are you doing to yourself?"

"I can't get them clean," he whispered. 

The agony in the boy's voice broke his heart. He wrapped a strong arm around his friend, and felt Sam collapse into him with writhing sobs. "It does get better, Sam," he promised softly. "If you let it."

They sat that way for a long time, until the whole field had gotten dark. Finally, Sam sniffed and sat up from where he had left his weight on Castiel. "We should go home."

Castiel shrugged. "Yeah. You going to be okay?"

Sam's eyes were an enigma. They were weary gray blue in this light, when only an hour ago, they had been filled with frightened green and brown. "I'm going to be okay," he confirmed in a hoarse, firm voice. 

He helped the boy stand. "Okay. Good."

"Could I...Cas, would you mind if I...I don't know anyone else..."

Castiel smiled kindly. "My number is on the team contact list. Text or call me anytime. And, Sam? You know it doesn't wash off. So if you feel like burning your hands? You need to call me. Okay?"

Sam's lips were trembling, but he nodded. "Thank you," he murmured. 

They headed in opposite directions toward home. Castiel looked back to watch the rounded shoulders and ducked head walking away from the field, and he sighed. 

Sam Winchester. Sweet Sam Winchester, brilliant, athletic, funny Sam Winchester was gay. Who would have guessed?


	4. Better Days

A box was dropped onto his lap from above. Sam squinted up at the teammate haloed by the dying light of the sun, and smiled. "What's this?" he muttered.

Castiel sat next to where Sam was yanking off his cleats. "Happy birthday."

Sam rolled his eyes. He tossed his cleats and socks a few safe feet away, and examined the box. "I don't celebrate my-"

"Don't care. I'm not making you go out and sing karaoke. I'm just getting you a practical, tiny gift that barely even counts as a present." Castiel smirked and lay back on the field with his hands behind his head.

Sam watched him for a moment, enjoying the look of satisfaction on his friend's face. Then he looked back at the box.

Castiel sighed. "Sam, it really isn't a big deal at all. I promise."

He tore the paper gently and then lifted the top off the box. He hoped Castiel was telling the truth. A serious gift would make him uncomfortable. He smiled in relief when he saw it. "Keeper gloves."

Castiel popped up immediately. "Yeah, but the best keeper gloves you can get, and then this too." He triumphantly held up a container of...something.

Sam's head tilted. "What is that?"

His friend rolled his eyes. "It's for your hands. Let me see them." Castiel looked around them to be sure their teammates had dispersed, then grabbed one of Sam's hands. He opened the container, and took a bit of the substance with his fingers and began massaging it into Sam's hand.

"Oh, wow," Sam muttered. He had burned his hands washing them only once since that evening they had first talked, but he had confessed to Castiel that the hand washing itself had been a hard habit to break, even though he wanted to. He couldn't seem to stop after just a minute or so. As a result, even though the temperature of the water was right, his hands still remained cracked to the point of aching. Castiel had made it his personal mission to care for Sam's hands.

The blue eyes searched his. "Good?"

"Awesome," he sighed.

Castiel smiled happily. "I'm glad. It'll be better than that lotion I made you put on them. As your captain, I'm telling you to use this stuff daily till it's gone, and then tell me, and I'll go get you more. Understand?"

He couldn't help staring at Castiel's serious face. "Yes, sir," he sighed. "But...I kind of like it when you do it for me."

His friend looked up from their hands in surprise. "I...I only meant to show you...You should take better care of yourself, and..."

But Sam was smiling. In the last ten days, he and Castiel had been inseparable. Even when Sam was at home, he was texting the other boy, or responding to one of his messages. In no time, they had exchanged secrets no one else knew. It seemed that since they were trusting one another with one major secret, they may as well spill it all. Sam loved it. In such a short period of time, he had become closer to Castiel than he had ever been with anyone but Dean. And he liked it.

Castiel watched him. "You..."

"I like you touching my hands. Taking care of my hands."

Sam could sense an interesting dynamic change in their roles, as Castiel's face began to take on a pink hue. Sam enjoyed that too.

"I-I like taking care of your hands. I don't want you to be uncomfortable though..."

"There's nobody here, Cas. And it's been whole days since I felt uncomfortable with you," he teased. Sam had seen Dean flirt enough to know when to bite his lip and lower his eyes. He shrugged. "I mean, if you're uncomfortable..."

"No!" Castiel's blush was delicious. "No, I'm...I just think you...you're not ready to...to know if you're uncomfortable. You know?"

Sam grinned at him. "Cas? It's my birthday."

A scowl crossed his friend's handsome face. "So? You got your gift." But a smile was peeking out. "What more do you want?" And now the blue eyes raised to meet Sam's stare, and the question came out more sincere than the boy had probably meant for it to.

"You've kissed guys, Cas. I know you have. You told me."

"Sure. Yeah. I mean, a few times."

"And I've kissed you a thousand times in my head."

Castiel drew in a jagged breath at this confession. "You...have?"

It was fun seeing Castiel off-balance for once. "Yeah," he said in a tease. "I mean, you're not the only one. I once thought about kissing Michael Arch."

Castiel's eyes rolled, and he snorted. "That doesn't mean anything. Straight guys think about kissing Mike Arch. He looks like a young Matt Cohen."

"I don't know who that is."

The other boy laughed. Then he licked his lower lip into his bite. He chewed on it for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. He surged forward and pressed his mouth onto Sam's.

His breath stopped completely as their lips touched. There were no sirens, no news crews appearing from nowhere, no bolts of lightning sent to smite them. Only the sweet, tender pressure of warm lips, and a tiny whimper from Sam's throat.

Castiel pulled himself away slowly, and opened his stunning eyes. They were full of concern. He took Sam's hands in his. "Sam? Are you-Was that all right?"

"That was amazing," he sighed.

"You're not upset?" Castiel fretted.

"No. I thought maybe I would be, but I'm really not."

"Good!" Castiel pounced on his friend, and Sam felt himself pushed back into the grass, with Castiel's arms on either side of him. The boy's mouth was on him again, and this time, it wandered down to his throat.

Sam's whole body reacted to the way Castiel nipped and pressed his open lips along his throat and back onto his neck. He felt himself pushing up against the other boy without bothering with actual thought. His eyes rolled back as he allowed himself to feel good without the associated guilt and shame which had always come with it.

"God, Sam," Castiel huffed into his neck. He returned to find the waiting mouth again, and took his time tasting it. At last, he took one more sweet kiss, and raised himself to sit. "Sam," he sighed happily.

Sam lay, stunned, on the grass. A thousand thoughts skittered through his mind, but he settled on just one. "You stopped!" he hissed.

Castiel laughed breathlessly. "Well, yeah. It's your sixteenth birthday, man, not thirtieth."

"I am not waiting fourteen years to have sex with you."

The blush was back. "No. But you'll wait a while longer. If you want to go screw some guy, help yourself. If it's me you want, you'll need to wait for that. I promised myself a long time ago I'm not going to. Not till after high school. It's important to me. So is this you just experimenting because you feel bold on your birthday? Or is it really me you want?"

Sam thought that was the most adorable speech he had ever heard. "It's so you," he sighed with a smile. "Cas, it's totally you. It's been you since I first saw that poster. It's been you since I heard you laugh in the halls, before I even met you. It's been you since you asked to see my hands, and every time you've asked to see them since. You just tell me what I am allowed to have, and I promise to be completely satisfied with that. I'll take whatever you let me have."

The smile was back, and brighter than ever. Castiel looked filled with relief. "God, you're incredible. Seems like every guy I've said that to just laughed and ignored me, till I had to leave."

"There's the difference, Cas. I don't want you to leave. I want you to know how much I like you, how grateful I am to be your friend. Why would I want to ask for anything you're not up for? That doesn't make sense. Cas, I don't know what other guys are like. And I don't care. Three weeks ago, I was ready to drown in hot water to make this all go away. And then I met you, and you make everything a thousand times better. And I'm happy for the first time. I still don't...I don't think I'll ever be able to tell my family. Or probably anybody else. But you're making me not hate this part of me, Cas, because it's part of you too, and there's nothing about you that I don't love."

The eyes shone with tears suddenly, and Castiel stared down at the grass. "I feel the same way," he admitted hoarsely. "Sam, I feel the same way."

Sam reached to kiss him again, lightly, and then squeezed his hands.

"You're really gorgeous, Sam. And seeing you happier the past few days has been...I think maybe I'd do anything to make you happy."

"I'd never ask you to do anything you didn't want to do, Cas. And everything you let me have will make me happy. It seems like a good combination to me."

"So where do we go from here?"

Sam laughed, suddenly shy again. "How should I know? I just followed up my first kiss by admitting I wanted to have sex with you. I'm clearly not the expert here."

Castiel gave another happy sigh, and licked his lips as if tasting Sam's on them. "I love that I was your first kiss," he breathed.

"You're my first everything, Cas." A twinge of fear began building in his gut. "But...where do we go from here? I mean...I want to see you. All the time. And when I do, I'm going to want to touch you. I'm going to want you to push me into the grass every time you're in reach. How are we going to do this?"

Castiel touched his cheek, and leaned in for another kiss. Then he lay their foreheads together. "It's okay. Because you just proved that's not all this is. We're going to make time for that, but we're friends too, right? And in public, we can just be friends. You and I will know, but it's no one else's business. Right?"

Sam nodded quickly. "Right. Good." Relief swam in his belly, and he smiled. "It isn't going to be easy knowing how nice you feel."

The other boy smiled too, and laughed. "Then we'll need to figure out where we can be together outside of the soccer field, Sam. Because we aren't even really supposed to be here right now. If Coach found out, we'd be in it."

That hadn't occurred to Sam at all. He watched Castiel's tongue darting out to lick his lips again and sighed. "You know...Dean already knows you're training me for next season."

The captain beamed at him with pride. "Keep practicing the way you did today, and you might play our last two games this season!"

Sam blinked at him. "Oh. Um. Okay. Good. But I mean, my brother wouldn't think anything of you coming over to the house. And my dad isn't home till late every night."

Castiel smiled.


	5. That's My Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's my family, Kay.   
> That's not me." 
> 
> ~Michael Corleone,   
> THE GODFATHER

Sixteen days. Sixteen days was all that was left of high school. He was going to make it.

He knew a few of his freshman and sophomore teachers who were plenty shocked. Probably, there were bets being cashed in at the faculty lounge. Mr. Zachariah was probably going bankrupt. The idea made Dean smile, but realistically, there weren't likely any teachers who would have bet on Dean in the first place.

He had set the bar pretty low. His father wasn't so much proud of him for graduating as he was relieved that he wasn't in prison yet. He would never put it that way out loud, but Dean knew. Dean always followed orders to the letter, but Sam was the good kid. Sam was the one who was reliable. If John didn't tell Sam what to do, the kid figured it out anyway. Dean needed telling. Dean needed orders. That was why he was going into the military in sixty days. Papers were already signed, and Dean was so relieved he could have burst into tears when he put down the pen.

He wasn't like Sam. Not smart like Sam. And not level-headed like Sam. Sure, the kid had a real temper, but it only seemed to flare toward Dean and John, and if Dean were being honest, he would have to admit that Sam usually won arguments because he was right. Not always. But usually.

God, he was proud of that kid. Sam, he was going to be somebody. Maybe he was shy and awkward now. But that would polish up with time. Sam was a kid who had plans to go somewhere, and Dean looked forward to seeing where he ended up. He just hoped the guy remembered to have fun here and there. But maybe that was Dean's job, to go shake up his little brother's serious, important life anytime he had leave from his post.

The thought made Dean happy.

It was Friday, and that made Dean happy too. Sam and his buddies had won their game last night, and he had enjoyed shouting from the stands when the second-string keeper stepped off the bench and into the net in the second half, and blocked everything that came close. Admittedly, not much came close. Sam's team had some pretty impressive players, and almost every attempt was swept long before it was in Sam's territory. But what Dean really was proud of was Sam's control of the game. He called direction from the net like a seasoned goalie, with a confidence Dean rarely saw on the boy's face. Sam was a leader on that field. Dean wished his father were there to see. Even more, he wished his mother were.

It had been fun watching Sam's team win on Thursday, but it was Friday, and that was Dean's day. Most Fridays, John didn't come home at all. He did a night shift at the fire department on Fridays after working at the garage all week. So the place was all Dean's and Sam's. Dean had a date to the party on Saturday, and should probably study for finals on Sunday, but tonight, all he wanted was to relax and sprawl on the couch with whatever food he could pile into his arms, and watch the same movies he had watched every week for years. It was even more imperative that he do this now. Boot camp didn't have movie nights.

He had settled on _The Godfather_ by the time he had every snack in the house arranged around the coffee table. He put in the disc and then stopped. He checked his watch, and a feeling of dread came over him.

Was he supposed to have picked Sam up from practice tonight? He thought the team had off Fridays after games, but Sam wasn't around. Was he waiting for Dean?

Guilt filled his stomach. He should've been used to feeling like an idiot by now, to feeling entirely unreliable. He _was_ kind of a screw-up, after all.

Dean abandoned his snacks and movie and pulled on his jacket, even though it was warm out. He chewed on his lip, and caught himself thinking aloud.

"I could swear, though," he muttered. "Fridays after games, I thought. Better check his schedule before I drive all the way back to school to pick up his ass only to find out he's-"

His breath caught in his throat.

He should have knocked.

 _Jesus, he should have knocked_.

Dean backed down the hall, right into the wall, smacking the back of his head into the wall, without even noticing.

Sam's voice sounded like it was reaching him from the surface of a pool. It was distorted at first, and by the time Dean could hear him clearly, he had missed several things the boy had said.

"What?" he breathed. Sam's eyes were full of fear. Seeing them shook Dean out of his stunned state. "Sammy. Calm down!"

The big eyes were leaking panicked tears. "Dean, it isn't...it's really not..."

Without meaning to, Dean rolled his own eyes. Obviously he hadn't missed anything. Sam was still stuttering. He looked behind his terrified brother. The other boy was flinching terribly, but he was silent, and Dean recognized immediately what that look on his face was. The kid was trying to concoct a lie. He knew, because that was exactly what he would have been doing if some girl's big brother had caught _him_ lying shirtless on _her_ bed- _on her!_ -and shoving his face into _her_ throat.

He smirked at the kid coldly. "Don't bother," he snapped as the kid took a breath and opened his mouth.

Sam was sobbing next to him. "Dean, it really isn't-I was just-"

He continued to look into the eyes of the guy squirming into his shirt miserably. There was pleading in that face. Without a word, he was begging Dean, and he could tell it wasn't for his own sake, but for Sam's.

He sighed. "You were just what, Sam?" he demanded.

Sam cringed and shut his eyes. He began wringing his hands.

Dean flicked his gaze from the kid sitting on the bed to Sam's raw hands and back again.

The kid swallowed hard and gave Dean such a look of sadness that he had his answer without even asking. He knew now what had been going on with Sam's hands the past many weeks. He didn't know how exactly, but Sam had been hurting himself over the fear of this very situation they were in right now.

"You were just what?" Dean said again. "Ditching movie night to make out with your boyfriend when you know perfectly well I've got a limited number of Fridays left for Al Pacino with my kid brother? You couldn't just cuddle on the couch or something while we watch? What's wrong with you? _The Godfather_ comes first, you know that! Bros before beaus, dude!"

The kid behind Sam let loose a heavy sigh and smiled in relief, ducking his head and shaking it.

Sam was staring at him now. "Wha-what?"

Dean threw his hands up. "Seriously!" he exclaimed. "If he wants to climb on you, he better be ready to do it in the living room with me and Brando! I'm not giving up movie night just so you can get some tail! Get your priorities right, Sammy!"

His brother continued to stare for another moment, then tackled Dean, throwing his arms around him and holding him tighter than was comfortable but Dean didn't mind.

"You okay, little brother?" he asked, while meeting the other guy's gaze.

The boy smiled at him with a face full of gratitude.

"Thank you so much," Sam wept. "Dean, you have no idea how...how scared..."

Dean squeezed him. "Don't you hurt my brother again. You understand me?" he whispered into his ear.

Sam nodded frantically. "I'm so sorry!"

He pushed him back and held him at arm's length. "Don't be sorry. You haven't done anything wrong. Just don't hurt you again. I won't be able to leave in a few weeks if I have to worry about you. You get it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, thank you."

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't act like I did anything. I didn't. Don't give people credit for not being assholes. I know I based my whole academic career on setting a low bar, but seriously. Don't thank me for not being a bitch."

Sam laughed, swiping at his tears with shaking hands.

He sighed. "Well, this explains why you suck at flirting with girls. Who's the guy on your bed?"

The younger boy sniffed. "He...That's Castiel Trodaire, my...team captain."

Dean snorted. "Really? Soccer captain, Sammy? Whatever. Zip up and get out here for Pacino. I'm starting it in five minutes with or without you."

Sam bit his lip and nodded. "Thank you," he whispered again.

The older brother shared one last glance with Castiel, and stumbled back to the living room. He took his jacket off again, and shut his eyes as Sam's door closed and whispered voices could be heard behind it. He was suddenly exhausted. His chest was tight, and an unfamiliar heaviness set in.

"What the hell is Dad going to say?" he breathed.


	6. And When Dad Came Home...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Castiel watched Sam's face in concern. "Sam? You okay?"

The boy's lips were trembling, and there were tears sparkling on them. But they smiled. "He doesn't hate me," he wheezed. 

"Oh, baby." Castiel put his arms around him and held him as sobs shook him bone deep. He stroked his boyfriend's hair gently. "Shh. Shh, baby, it's okay. Of course he doesn't hate you."

"Why...why did I think...?"

The older boy sighed wearily. "Because you hated you, Sam. You are the one who had so much hate built up. Your brother loves you, Sam. This doesn't change anything for him. He might need some time to get used to the idea. He was pretty shocked. But trust me. If he had a problem with it, right then would have been when he said so, before he could think about it and censor himself."

Sam was still heaving thick breaths into Castiel's chest. "He doesn't hate me," he whispered again. 

"No, baby. He doesn't." He placed their foreheads together with a little renegotiation of Sam's weight. "Listen. Did you hear what he said? Told you to stop hurting his kid brother. You heard him?"

He barked out a strange laugh. "I'm still caught up in the idea that he didn't hurt you! Or even me," he added hoarsely. 

"Of course he didn't. Sam, you're not being fair. He's obviously a decent guy. Do you think your brother is honestly someone who would beat up a guy just for kissing his brother?" He laughed quietly. "Besides, I'm not a bad fighter myself, you know. I could have held my own. That's what my name means, you know."

Sam frowned at him. "What?"

"Fighter."

"Castiel means fighter?"

Blue eyes rolled. "Not Castiel, dummy. Trodaire."

Sam looked doubtful. "First of all, you say that like Castiel isn't a weird name, and second? You're kind of tough, but don't ever underestimate my big brother. He's brutal when he wants to be."

"Noted," Castiel laughed. "And Castiel isn't weird."

"It's a little bit weird."

He leaned in and kissed the salty lips. "You think you can go out there and watch a movie with Dean?"

"Are you going to leave?"

"No. I'll stay. He's invited me into the sacred movie night ritual you neglected to mention, or even remember," he scolded. "It would be rude to say no."

"Right. It's too bad about the shirt."

He felt his face heating. "I shouldn't have let you take it off to begin with."

"You said that wasn't going too far!"

"No," he admitted. "But it sure didn't make things less awkward when your brother walked in. Baby, you have got to learn to lock your door."

"I didn't think he was home! Somebody made me lose track of time!"

Castiel kissed him again and stood. "You ready?"

"I think so."

He held his hand for Sam to grip, and they emerged in time to hear the opening music to the movie.

As they sat anxiously on the couch next to the one Dean was sprawled on, a bag of pretzels flew at their heads. "Castiel, is it? Yeah, okay. Look, Sam and I will quote every single line, and even hum the song notes. So fair warning, if that kind of thing makes you crazy."

Castiel smiled. "No," he said softly. "I'll be just fine."

***

Sam was an odd kid. Dean could have blamed him falling asleep during the five families scene on his emotional exhaustion, except that this would hardly be the first time. It was like the messed up boy was eased to sleep by the soundtrack of gun shots and dramatic music. 

Dean glanced over while Michael Corleone was taking care of the family business. "He passed out?"

Castiel's hand was still in Sam's hair. "Yes," he reported softly. 

"How long you two...?"

"We officially met in April. He started practicing with us, and one day after the other guys went home, I confronted him about his hands."

Dean flinched. "I knew something was wrong. I should have..."

"The whole point was that he didn't want you to know, Dean. It's what scared him more than anything in the world. I don't know if he ever would have told you. Maybe years from now. I don't know."

He nodded sadly. "I must...I must be a pretty shitty big brother if he thought he couldn't tell me this. I'm a shitty big brother for not noticing."

Castiel sighed. "Please don't say that, Dean. Please. My experience with my family looked more like this massacre than what just happened to Sam."

Dean frowned at him. "Why? What happened?"

"You know Michael Arch, I guess."

"Sure. Dark hair, sunglasses at night kind of douche."

Castiel laughed, then quieted when Sam snored in protest. He looked down at the boy fondly, and stroked his hair till he rested peacefully again. "Yeah. Well, that douche has been my best friend since preschool. And when I got kicked out of my house, his dad Chuck took me in. I've been living with him for a year now. People at school don't know that, because then they'd ask why. Even his girlfriend doesn't know I live there. She just thinks I'm there all the time."

"Wow. Actually kicked you out of the house? That's not right! And you were how old?"

"Not even fifteen."

"Son of a bitch. That's rough, man. I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Could have been worse. Lot of guys end up on the street. I ran to Michael's place, told him I didn't know what I was going to do. He asked his dad if I could stay a week. His dad said I could stay till I graduated. Most guys don't get a deal that good when their own family closes the gates behind them. The Arch family has some money. I didn't know that before, but I do now. And every time I promise Chuck I'll pay him back one day, he shakes his head at me and says I don't have to pay him back for doing what Carver should have done. That's my father. But Chuck is more of a dad to me than he ever was. I'm legally emancipated. But I've got a place to stay, I can go to school, and play soccer and all those things because Chuck decided to keep the stray Michael brought home. It could have gone...differently."

Dean nodded sadly. "Yeah. I guess so. I'm glad it didn't." They were quiet again, both staring at the television and not seeing anything. A tangle of fear was snaking around Dean's throat. Dread filled him when he realized he couldn't simply wait and hope his father would react well to Sam's secret if he ever found out. Castiel had found a big brother to take care of him when his father had disappeared from his life. Sam already had one, but Dean was leaving in two months. If John reacted badly while Dean was gone, what would Sam do? Dean needed to know now. He watched Michael Corleone avenging his brother and sighed.

***

"When did that happen?"

Dean set his jaw in defiance. "At birth, I assume."

John rolled his eyes. "Not when did he turn gay, Dean. When did he hook up with this kid he's seeing?"

Green eyes blinked in confusion. "Oh. I...don't know. Been a few weeks. Why? What are you going to do?"

The man stared at him. "I'm going to do the same thing I did to you when I found Rhonda Hurley's underwear in your wrestling bag, and the same thing I did when Lisa Braeden's daddy called to say he caught you two in the loft. I'm buying a mess of condoms and taking both their asses to the clinic to get tested."

Dean's lips parted, but nothing came out. 

"What the hell did you think I was going to do?"

Waves of emotion poured out of his heart, and he found it difficult to breathe, but he managed to swallow it down to stand like a good soldier. "I...don't know, sir."

"You thought I'd be pissed off that he's with a guy? That I don't have to worry about Sam getting some girl knocked up like I do with you?"

The boy winced, but began smiling. "Sam was always the good kid," he said. 

John looked up from where he was sitting and cleaning his hunting rifle. "No more than you."

Dean huffed. "Yeah. Right."

His father frowned. "Sammy's a good kid, Dean. He's strong and smart, and he does the right thing more than he does the wrong thing. That's all a father can ask for. You? Dean, your heart is always in the right place. And when you stop to think, your head is too. Your mom would have been real proud of you boys. You think she'd care Sam's got a boyfriend? Son, I lost the love of my life when I lost your mama. I will never get in the way of you and your brother finding love wherever you can get it. Just be smart about it is all I ask."

Dean was horrified to feel the tightness in his throat. The corners of his lips were quaking. He forced a cough. "Dad? You really think Mom would be proud of us? Me too?"

John shrugged and went back to work. "I am. Now go get some studying done. It'd be a shame to have to cancel plans for that title transfer on your graduation day just because you failed a few exams and didn't walk with your class."

"Title?" Dean had stopped breathing entirely. 

"Not much point in buying you a graduation present when I know what you want is sitting in my garage. I'll take care of her while you're away." John didn't look up again, but he was smiling. "Better go study, boy."

The grin came unbidden, and refused to be dampened down. "Yes, sir!" he cried, and turned to run from the room. 

Behind him, John began to laugh.


	7. Dad's Journal

_Mary,_

_It's been twenty years. I was thinking about it. I bet I never thought to tell Sam I proposed to you on his birthday. Or I guess he was born the day I proposed. Ten years to the day. It's been thirty years since then. Kid's twenty. He's brilliant, Mary. Got that from you. Obviously._

_Our baby just turned twenty._

_Speaking of babies, you'll remember that Impala I bought back in the day. It's going strong. Dean's taken good care of her. He makes sure to show me every time he comes by. You'd think I gave the kid the moon. He calls it Baby when he thinks I'm not listening. Sam used to roll his eyes about it._

_It's been a long time since I wrote in this stupid journal. Don't mean I wasn't thinking about you. I think about you every day. More than I should, maybe. Dean still keeps your photo by his bed. I saw it when I was over last. Dean's place is cleaner than a drill sergeant's inspection. He took to the military, like you wouldn't believe. I know you probably didn't want that for him, and I'm sorry. But it was good for him. Kid has more confidence than I ever saw him with before. Told me to shut up and sit down last time I saw him. I was prouder than I ever was._

_Cas is a good kid, Mary. You'd like him. Still following Sam everywhere he goes, like something between a lost puppy and a guard dog. He even checks on me since I had that stroke. Pretends like he's just checking for Sam's sake, but I know he's worried. It's nice having three boys, Mary. You'd like him. Sam's gonna marry that kid one day. He already jokes about granddogs. I don't know if they'd want kids or not. Sam still has a lot of school left, and Cas has to play while he can. Professional soccer contracts don't last forever, especially in this part of the world, and I know he wants to finish school when he can't play anymore. Sam's looking into law school more and more. Castiel's buddy Michael ended up at the same school, and he and Sam are going to try living together in an apartment next semester. We'll see how that goes. There's a third guy, Luke. Don't know much about him. But at least it won't be weird when Cas stays over._

_I'm rambling now. I don't mean to. I don't write for months on end, then I ramble. I'm tired, Mary. It's our baby's twentieth. It's been twenty years since I held you. I'm just so lonely._

_Your boys are fine. They're good. Real good. Dean's a trainer, like I said before. I like that because it lets him use some of his best skills, but keeps him off the front line. He's a leader, Mary. You'd be real proud._

_He dates, I think, but hasn't settled with anyone. There's a girl named Cassie he's mentioned once or twice. She lives at the base, works as an editor for the small base paper. Seems nice for all I can get out of Dean. No clue if she's here to stay. Dean's never been real good at committing. Honestly, I think he's afraid every woman he loves will go up in smoke like the first one did. I ain't the only one who never got over my first love. I just hope Dean can take a chance one day._

_Maybe one day I will too. I've started hanging out at that Roadhouse Bobby goes to. There's a woman there, Ellen. Lost her husband years back in a hunting accident. I don't know. Maybe. If nothing else, it's nice to talk to someone who knows what it's like to be lonely because you couldn't save the love of your life._

_I want better for Sammy. I know you do too. Dean and me, we can still smell the smoke. Sammy's got the best chance. He's so smart, Mary, and he's such a good soul. You used to tell the boys angels were watching over them. I laughed. But I hope it's true._

_Watch over them, angel. They need their mother. Twenty years. I hope you've been haunting us, Mary._

_I'll write again soon. I promise. Maybe by then I'll have more news on Cassie and Cas, and maybe I'll even have something about Ellen. Twenty years._

_Watch over us, angel._

_Love, John_


End file.
